Easter Goodness: Cute AND Cummy!

Last year I painted Delia’s balls like Easter Eggs and took pictures and video of her doing a holiday-appropriate fertility kind of thing, culminating in creamy egg-filling landing on a dandelion.

You know dandelions are edible, right? And so is creamy egg filling! Cum-eating is one of my wife’s specialties. I’d say she does it in over half of her videos, and I think this is the PERFECT time of year to combine cuteness with cumminess!

This year she posted the Easter Bunny picture set; we shared thirty of my favorites over on her blog if you want to see more!

My shadow is not in ANY of those thirty pictures, by the way … but this is definitely my preferred format for making appearances these days: barely visible. Just a hint of Trixie. SHADOW Trixie! Man-behind-the-camera Trixie. Sunshine-on-my-shoulders Trixie.

As the days get longer I do feel more like coming out. More hopeful I’ll feel more visibly radiant one of these days soonish.

Staying off of social media helps. Easter is actually the one day I specifically resolved a few years ago to never look at what other people are saying or doing. I may not need to do anything to celebrate Easter myself, but I do find a lot of joy in a wide variety of Easter stories, rituals, traditions, etc. Including the story of the resurrection of Jesus.

While I appreciate and understand criticisms of Christianity — like how paganism was co-opted, perverted, criminalized and lethally punished by Christians, and Easter is a particularly good example of that — I’m still fed by some of those stories I grew up with. When you’re a kid, those things are real and bible stories are some of the first paranormal stories you hear and see PICTURES with rays of sunshine breaking out in all kinds of tragic places. The image of the stone being rolled away and the mystery and hope of his body being gone, and of him appearing to people who loved him afterwards are beautiful stories that most people need in one form or another.

While the Christian stories are understandably stupid and/or too inextricably tied to ugliness and horror for many people (and nobody should be forced to honor or respect what is just pure scary bullshit to them), some of us still love simple aspects of those stories and want to bask in the rapture of them. The stuff that old songs are about that have made people throw their heads back and arms into the air for centuries, craving love and relief and for magic to be real, or at least to suspend disbelief long enough to enjoy the stories that tell us they are so. It just feels more powerful when you participate in it with your voice and body.

On Easter I don’t want to be around or listen to people who tell me not to fuck outside like rabbits or not to believe in Jesus. Neither one of those peoples do I want to listen to so much, or share my voice or body or suspension of disbelief with. Which is part of why I’m being invisible a lot lately. And it is good.


Catching Up with Summer

Just got home last night. Been gone way too much this month: almost half the month. One of one of my orchid’s buds burst open while I was gone.

white orchid flower

I have a lot of catching up to do with the blackcaps and other berries in the backyard.


The amount of good I feel from yardwork (which for me is very slow and meditative and not super productive) is HUGE. Cutting back prickly little vines and salal reaching too far into pathways. Moving small piles of the prickly vines & leaves from wherever to The Big Pile. Watering & pulling weeds occasionally.

butterfly bush, salal & daisy flower arrangement

Here’s a glimpse of one of the things we did while I was in Seattle:

Delia tenting in maxi dress

I love my wife in long knit maxi dresses. JOIN NOW for all of her “tenting” pics & videos!

Other things I did over the weekend in Seattle:

  • called 911 on the way after neighbor called to alert me to suspicious dude on our property
    • felt super grateful for how much lithium orotate is helping my brain because without it I would never have been able to hold multiple stressful conversations on the phone while in crowded ferry terminal, WALKING, etc.
  • we celebrated a belated mother’s day with my mom
    • took her to brunch at Salty’s & cruised Alki afterwards
    • watched Hello My Name is Doris
  • resolved to watch more movies in our building’s theater room
  • walked through & past all of the drunk Mariners fans & the stadium(s)
    • finally bought contemptible vaping supplies for easier consumption of headache medicine. And stuff.
      • grudgingly became a convert to vaping
    • restrained myself from impulsive potential porno opportunity with beautiful young man
      • regretted so thoroughly restraining myself
  • played games on my phone while Delia listened to streaming Phish concerts
  • shot a couple sets of pics & videos for DeliaTS.com
  • ate delicious foods
  • made more shoot plans / did prep work for upcoming shoots & trips
  • discussed DeliaTS.com redesign, took notes on what Delia wants for it, mocked up some things, bought & played with some fonts
  • Bused / walked to & from the naked lady spa where I spent a day alone
    • unexpected SURPRISE ride on double-decker Sound Transit bus!
      • I got to sit
        • up top!
        • in the very front seat!!
        • ON THE WATER SIDE!!!
    • tried not to feel bad about spending money on a spa day
      • I haven’t been there in over a year … jesus!
  • had a PMS-exacerbated rare pouty spat with Delia upon my return
    • was again super grateful for the lithium keeping me way more balanced than I’d normally be … and for how calm Delia is about such things (although super frustratingly yet blessedly impossible to actually FIGHT with)
  • we put a date night with each other on the calendar: too much of our time with each other lately has been work or family or just trying to recover from work &/or family
  • enjoyed lunch Delia prepared & amazing view with each other on the top floor of our building


We always want Bremerton to beat Bainbridge.

A photo posted by Trixie Fontaine (@tastytrixie) on


  • got ORCA cards
    • even with research online, was prepared for it to be more difficult than it should be
      • no white people in positions where they should be able to help folks procure ORCA cards knew fuck all about how to go about it; black guy whose job it was not to help me (pretty sure he was a ferry boat captain), helped me with MULTIPLE options and very clear instructions & directions for each of them
  • finally dropped in at the Seattle Mystery Bookshop
  • realized my backpack was way too heavy to be carrying so far after putting it all into a big suitcase and even though it has wheels realized it’s WAY TOO HEAVY, even not on my back
  • enjoyed the ferry terminal & ride while high because the vaping thing makes it way too convenient to do so
  • made an awkward dorky ass of myself alternately trying to / not to flirt with someone in the ferry terminal
  • drank too much coke zero because my throat felt scratchy (yes, even though it’s just VAPOR … whatever, stoners) so even though I peed on the ferry the bus rides home were kind of torture
  • was picked up & driven home by friend who saw & pitied me on my long walk with enormous heavy suitcase
    • delivered home in time to not burst bladder
  • discovered house safe and sound and apparently not broken into!

It’s good to be home.

jammy wild blackberries

The ones that get dry-looking in the sun without getting smutty are the JAMMIEST!


Cabin roof / skylight in the background

Cabin roof / skylight in the background

unprofessional flower arrangement

Growing and Changing

Growing is hard work, and out of your control a lot of times. It happens whether you think you’re ready or not.

Photo May 08, 3 30 11 PM

I truly want to grow and think I have a pretty great attitude about it, but I don’t. Not completely: I want to be in charge of WHAT changes, HOW MUCH … WHEN and towards what (perfect) ends.

The good news: I might be past the worst of my midlife crisis, and am embracing good changes. Want to read about them? This month (National Bike Month, coincidentally) I’ll post more here about a significant lifestyle change we made at the end of March right as my grandma died (which was harder for me because of other family issues it brought up than actually losing my grandma) and this crazy overheated early spring unfolded … AND as the person I’ve been spending the most time with other than my wife decided to move out of state for a new job.

AND PRINCE DIED! Maybe that has nothing to do with me and I shouldn’t take that loss so personally, but his passing has been a touchstone of grief and strengthening wellspring of affirmation and inspiration at the same time.

wild roses

The Shortest Day in Seattle

Seattle, solstice, 13:07

A photo posted by Trixie Fontaine (@tastytrixie) on


Our first winter with our Seattle apartment, living in two places.

I spent winter solstice there, alone with the camera, and did one of my favorite things: I just WALKED. Under the viaduct — always a fixture in my idea of Seattle — knowing it will be gone. South towards where my dad worked at Western Union in the seventies, where I loved all of that grey old-fashioned industry that always looked too old and tired to bustle and has never ever looked like it should last.

I wonder how it will all crumble, and hope I’m not there when it does. In the meantime I love/hate it, just like this.

alaskan way viaduct

The portable office-shelters tucked in between concrete pillars and under ramps and roads remind me of model train layouts with little lights glowing inside.


Seattle solstice sleeping bag

I felt at home — comfortable like I rarely feel in the city — with tiny little cold drops of water accumulating on my face and hands and the plastic baggie I had over the camera.

On the way back “home” I stopped for Yankee pot roast and mashed potatoes and gravy somewhere I swore to myself I would never patronize. I asked the host to seat me at their LEAST FESTIVE TABLE. He understood.

When I got back, dozens of drunk Santas were milling around and I wished I had a budget to proposition a few of them to make porn.

Valentine’s Day, Fifty Years Ago

My mom and dad got married fifty years ago today:

Trixie's mom and dad wedding photo

My mom & dad on their Valentine’s Day wedding in the sixties

Seeing who I come from — thinking about who these people are/were, and who they raised me to be (and loved me INTO being) — is a good reminder to try to be the best of who I *am*, instead of struggling to be better at being more like other people, or trying to give people what I think they want or need instead of what I have and who I really am. I have so many of my parents’ limitations and their gifts – when I look at them with love and realism, I can be kinder: more loving towards myself. More honest with myself.

I’ve been thinking a lot about love as privilege in the past year or so (and privilege and love in general).

I’ve also been circling back to my childhood and young adult years, reflecting on how I experience love and intimacy and connections most profoundly, and where there are gaps and raw little injuries I keep re-experiencing, and accepting that even though I’ve been (and am) really fortunate when it comes to loving and being loved, I still need to puke vomit gag “love myself more” if I’m going to thrive (be the best, happiest, most free, most positive and contributing version of my human self I can be) and make the MOST of my good fortune and unique gifts.

Trixie's mom and dad in black and white 50 years ago

Mommy: 20, Daddy: 32

I’m thinking right now of what it means to be fruitful and multiply. How hard they worked to bring us into being and how they did their very best. Not that any of us believe literally in crazy bible shit like that (or that it has any relevance to us today: OBVIOUSLY NOT), or that they took us to church; they didn’t (though that church they’re standing in is where I was baptized and where my sister’s first wedding was and is a powerfully beautiful place that figures prominently in my values and development – that church is part of my home, even though we didn’t belong to it).

I am meant to bear fruit. I am meant to do things that result in exponential increases of abundance. I believe we ALL are meant for that.
I need to accept with celebratory unapologetic abandon and leaps of faith that I can’t follow off-the-shelf mainstream/normal-person blueprints for that.

I don’t want to love or live a little.

I want to — and I do — love a lot. With fires baptisms feasts famines DEEP QUIET HIBERNATION PERIODS debauchery pestilence dreams deafness sacrifice communion peace oil foot-washing long walks alone VISIONS (hallucinations) long silent walks together temple-building and being laid low over and over and over to be resurrected again and again and again. With trances prayers uncontrollable dancing tics dramatic little speeches blessings levitation transmogrification cave-dwelling and secret walks in the garden, just me and Jesus alone. Just you, and I. With stories and songs delivered especially to/for children. With radiant naked trust and fear-blasted visages and loyal marriage to my own pleasure. And confession and absolute loving forgiveness that we are all just human monster saint angels.

This song is so annoying-sounding, but the lyrics/concept are about having your need for love and attention and comforting acceptance exclusively met all night long:

I believe that I am made in the image of “God” because I don’t know you, but I love you. And I *do* know you. We know each other. The reason you are reading this or anything about people on the internet is to feed an emotional and spiritual hunger. Don’t be shy. I love that about you. We love that about each other.

We believe in magic and bullshit and making babies. Or just masturbating alone on Valentine’s day watching the tubes, like I did today. Together. We are all one body. We are all alone. Happy Valentine’s Day. If it sucks, use your imagination. Get religion. Get a call girl. Or a camgirl. Listen to Hozier all night if you want to. There’s some pretty good stuff in the world. If you can’t find any of it, have a tender conversation talking to your divine little self. Hold your own hand. Do it in earnest.

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